The Scientist
by TrueEnough
Summary: Post Grave Danger. Grissom pulls the puzzles apart and in the process figures out things between him and Nick.


**The Scientist by TrueEnough**

A week before Nick returned to work Catherine issued an invitation to all three shifts to attend a party at her house. In the weeks that Nick had been recovering the details of his abduction had taken on a surreal quality that left him more of an urban legend and less of the accessible man he actually is.

The party served more than one purpose. Nick's family, who had swelled to an almost alarming number and then pared down to more immediate blood relations, would be leaving en mass the next day. Still reeling from even the possibility of losing him the large gathering went a long way towards reassuring them that Nick also belonged to another family, one of scientists, gun and DNA experts, tough, fractious and big hearted people. Walter Gordon had asked what Nick Stokes meant to me and the answer, if not the resolution, had been easy and stunning: he is ours and we want him back.

This extended family of Nick's was finally allowed to approach him, at different speeds depending on familiarity and temperament, outside the sterile confines of the hospital where we could prove to ourselves that while he had been taken from us he had also been found and returned, alive and well, thinner perhaps, but not diminished in any other discernible way. By the same token, Nick could reach out to us the way he was prone to do without having to traverse the gauntlet of glass hallways at work.

When I arrived cars already filled Catherine's driveway and down along the street. Some I recognized, others were obviously rentals.

Lindsay opened the door, stared, almost smiled and then let me in. I handed her a pink dessert box when she reached for it and followed the tilt of her head when she informed me, "They're in there."

The large airy living room made the size of Nick's family appear somewhat smaller, although not by much. Mingling with his coworkers instead of hospital staff they also looked more relaxed while still forming and reforming a loose protective circle around their son and brother.

By a hospital bed I had memorized their names with the same careful attention I had used to learn the periodic table of elements.

Five sisters.

"Hello, Jenna."  
"Michaela, hello."  
"Lisa, yes, good to see you, too."  
"Hello, Stephanie."  
"Iris, hello."

One brother. With a firm handshake.

"Aaron."

I stifled an amused smile for a more suitable one. Nick and his siblings struck me as an almost comic example of robust health. A beautiful collection of adults who were obviously raised on fresh produce and bottled water, affection from one parent and discipline from the other. From the careful, puzzled reception I received each time we met I got the impression that I had been described formidably and arrived domesticated.

I was letting go of the Honorable Senior Stokes' hand when I heard Nick call out to me. "Hey, Grissom," still hoarse, "come over here and meet the latest addition to the clan."

I nodded my leave and made my way over to Nick. The sight of him set off a series of rapid fire emotions that tightened my throat and chest. Fear over what could have happened and along with it gratitude for the actual outcome. And inexplicably, grief. But there was Nick, sitting on a comfortable sofa, smiling up at me over the head of his nephew who straddled his leg.

"This is Elijah," Nick said proudly, "He just parachuted in the other day."

I stepped over Sara's feet who seemed mesmerized by the living commercial for happy beginnings that reached for her finger. "Pleasure to meet you, Elijah," I said and held out my own finger expecting it to be ignored. Elijah grabbed it with surprising strength and gurgled.

Greg pushed over an ottoman as Nick told me, "You might as well sit down. He had Sara's hair for a good fifteen minutes earlier."

I sunk into the ottoman and smiled at Warrick who acted as a bookend along with Sara.

Warrick tipped his head towards Elijah. "Isn't he the cutest white boy you've ever seen?"

I looked at Elijah who was bald with a toothless wide grin and liquid dark eyes and thought that I knew exactly what Nick looked like when he was a baby - down to the same warm, wide open nature and grasping hands. I kept the observation to myself and instead made a great show of looking at Elijah, looking at Nick, pausing at Hodges off to the side, studying Greg and Bobby next to him until they laughed at my indecision.

"Definitely in the top five," I deadpanned and set them off again.

Nick's laugh strained, became too loud and contained a sobbing sound that all of us seemed hypersensitive to now that we knew exactly what it sounded like.

Warrick used his hand to paint a heavy circle on Nick's back and then squeezed his shoulder. I rested my hand, the one that Elijah had yet to tire of, on the edge of Nick's knee and let Nick bounce us both.

By the time I arrived Nick was already trying to dismiss Officer Parks. He pushed a smile across his face and shook the rookies hand. "Thanks, man." When he saw me he held that same smile in place and took the last bag of evidence from Parks and placed it carefully in the back of his SUV.

Officer Parks nodded at me and in that small gesture handed Nick off into my protective custody. The exchange was not lost on Nick. Sighing through his nose, hands on his hips, I could see that he was ready to square off with me. So I smiled at him.

"Nick, how about some lunch?"

"You could have just called."

"I was in the neighborhood."

Nick dropped his chin to his chest, I suspect, to hide his grin at such an obvious lie but when he looked up again there was still a trace of it there. "OK. Let me get this back to the lab. And Grissom, I don't need a babysitter"

Just to make him feel on more sure ground I started to walk away while firing directives over my shoulder. "Right. Call the rest of the clan. See if they can meet us at the Cantina."

He gave me a two fingered salute. "Will do."

I got in my truck and pulled out before he could be a witness to a more genuine smile.

Warrick didn't do it every night but often enough for me to memorize the steps. It's something I've seen athletes and celebrities do which only fed an observation that Catherine made that Warrick probably had another gig somewhere else and was merely slumming it at the lab for research purposes.

Over the years I'd watched Nick and Warrick evolve from good natured rivals to the kind of men who have seen first hand how bad the world can be and have chosen by their action and deeds to be war buddies instead.

From a distance, through two panels of glass, I watched them hook each others fingers in greeting only for one of them to tug the other against his chest, hands still gripped. The masculine posturing behind the brief bump of their chests was unmistakable as was the affection when Warrick hooked his free arm around Nick's back only to knock him in the shoulder with a loose fist. It was over and done with in a matter of seconds, two perhaps, and yet the connection between them was as fine as fishing line and just as impossibly strong.

I tried to picture myself walking up to Nick, close enough to shake hands but using the grip to pull him closer. Would the gesture connect us or embarrass us? Would he let me hold on? Would it be the same hug at all? The doubt I held made my face burn.

When I looked up again they were gone.

Archie kept quiet about the possibility of Walter Gordon having an accomplice and in the process became quieter still, He's a man used to listening, holding his opinion until all the background noise is carefully separated, catalogued and filtered out. He uncovers ordinary sounds that have meaning and mumbles that often become distinct enough to understand.

When I stood next to him I could feel him waiting for some prompt regarding the tape even though he knew as well as I did that there was nothing more to be done. We were left in a holding pattern, unable to go forward, unable to dismiss what little we knew and unable to shake the dread that we would find out more only a terrible cost.

He gave me the information I needed on another case and tried to smile before he went back to work. With his headphones on, leaning forward, he looked as if he was listening for the other shoe to fall.

I waited for a night that offered more routine cases which meant that I waited for weeks before I invited Nick out. He looked taken aback that I had asked and then seemed to accept only because he couldn't think of a reason not to. There were times when I suspected that Nick was debating with his own gregarious nature. He would sometimes greet me an open smile and then right before my eyes pull back as if he had overstepped. I wondered if he thought that what I had done at his grave was something that I could have done for anyone, that my actions did not necessarily speak of the affection I held for him. That morning, it was an assumption I wanted to put to rest.

Living in a tourist city it's easy to forget what it can offer even early in the morning. In Las Vegas at 8am I could gamble, order a stiff drink, eat lobster or ride a rollercoaster around a hotel. I chose the rollercoaster, I think, because it would afford us some time to talk while we were in line the way a drink would but without the low lit pressure to confide of a bar. He seemed surprised again when it became clear it was just the two of us but then settled into an animated recitation of his favorite rollercoasters back in Texas. I listened with half an ear, more interested in the sound of his voice. At one point he threw his hands up in the air and went bug-eyed remembering a ride that "scared the hair off his chest." I smiled at him and he beamed back and then it was our turn.

We sat in the front and almost out of habit I watched him for any sign of unease when the padded bars came down over his shoulders and across his waist. He merely jiggled it and then sat back. The car lurched forward and then slowly taxied to the top. We hovered there until gravity won out and then went screaming down the rails. The woman in back of us seemed to be letting out every frustrated emotion she had at the top of her lungs but I could still hear Nick laughing and calling out "Whoo-hoo" when we sped into the turns. I found myself laughing along with him when we came to an abrupt stop back where we started. I looked over at him, his cheeks flushed from the ride and the cold morning air and asked him, "Do you want to go again?" He said, "Hell no! That was great. No way to top it." He was right so I nodded and then laughed along with him again when he patted my knee soundly and mumbled "Good deal" to himself.

The safety bars unlocked and we were herded off while another group was herded on. I stopped and let the crowd flow around us and feeling very brave asked him, "How about some breakfast?" He nodded and smiled, less hesitant this time to accept and said, "Lead on."

We ended up at the breakfast buffet at Bally's that would have given Jerry Gable pause. I had to agree with Mr. Gable in that a buffet is no place for moderation. We loaded our plates with made to order eggs, sausage and pancakes with a small saucer of fruit acting as penance. We sat in a round booth and dug in.

He talked about his sister Michaela who had just had a show of her glass-work art in San Antonio where all the pieces had sold. He described her success as a huge validation for a child and a sibling who pursued art in a family of law enforcers and politicians.

He would pause and look at me to see if I wanted to offer something of my own and when I didn't he seemed untroubled by it and would talk some more. It's not that I didn't trust Nick with what I could tell him but my own history seemed fraught with details that would only earn his pity when I was more interested in his good regard.

A dozen times or more I thought about telling him about the voice at the end of Walter Gordon's tape but I didn't. It was just the two of us and he looked happy and I wanted nothing to do with taking that away.

In all honesty, I have no idea how Nick came out of that god-awful grave with any semblance of his good nature intact much less his sanity. Even before it happened I had started to worry about him. Out of all of us he was the one who grieved the most for the ones we lost. He had become more astute at hiding it or leaving it unsaid but it weighed on him nonetheless. There were times when I expected his resignation at the end of a shift.

I remember when we were on different watches with him leaving as I was coming in. I remember he passed me slowly while adjusting his back pack as if he had traveled many miles. When I made a comment, something like, "Tough shift, huh?" he answered, "Just another day in paradise." The fatigue and sadness I heard in his voice weighed on me. Later, when I finally had a moment to check I found out that the DB he was assigned to was a twelve year old boy who had been left in a dryer to suffocate by his best friend. No malice seemed to be involved only a thoughtless kind of indifference to consequences or maybe just morbid curiosity. We would never know. Nick, would never know.

I wanted then to go to Ecklie's office and protest the scattering of the people I worked with and trusted. For a moment I could see all of us under the same helm, with either myself or Catherine. I would have happily given up my position to her if she would have been able to work nights and that's when my initiative gave way. At the time it wasn't an option I could impose on her. There were too many if's, and's and but's and beyond that I had let them go with barely a word when protesting it might have worked. Still, when Nick was finally rescued and we were left with the detritus of the crime scene the one and only thing I wanted was my guys back. I wasn't asking – a stance I should have taken from the start - and Ecklie knew it, and to his credit acted on it.

I sometimes forget that the things that please me can make other people nervous. Nick swallowed hard and pointed at me with his fork and asked, "You all right, man?" I nodded and smiled which probably only made him more nervous but he took it in stride by getting up and asking if I wanted some more pancakes. I didn't but he was already on his way so I told him "yes" and "please." He pointed at me again, this time with his finger and squinted at me in mock sternness. "Don't move." I knew then what I felt for him and held my hands up in surrender. As far as I was concerned it was all over but for the crying.

I don't know exactly what made me think I could get away with it but I ended up standing next to his car door and holding out my hand. He took it in a firm handshake, not unlike his brothers. When he let go I caught his fingers and hooked mine against his. He blinked, his smile falling a few degrees. I tugged him towards me making him stumble in an effort not to step on my toes and then I stepped up to him and hooked my arm around his shoulders, restraining him more than anything. I finished it off by knocking him against his shoulder with my fist. He made a little "oh" sound and then wriggled his hand free from the knot I had made between our chests. I broke out into a sweat in the cool morning air, embarrassed that I had been unable to pull off such a seemingly casual gesture of affection and tried to step back. Nick used both arms to pull me closer and said, "hey" in to my ear as if he was trying to soothe a horse with a low startle point.

Ironically, I was startled that he was so strong as if the muscles he worked on were just for show. He held me as easily as he did his nephew, Elijah, and with just as much amused affection. He squeezed me and in the process released a quiet chuff of a laugh and then continued to rock me side to side. It was hypnotic - and dangerous - with my hands settling on his back of their own volition. I lost track of time.

He pulled back leaving his forearms resting on my shoulders. My own hands slipped down his back and rested on his hips. As awkward as I was I couldn't let go and embarrassed again, I couldn't look at him. He shook me, just enough to get me to look at him and when I did he used his eyes to smile and show a bit of concern.

He asked me, "Is this one of those once 'every ten years' things?"

I was finally able to grin but looked down again. "You heard about that, huh?"

He ducked his head to look me in the eye. "It's a pretty great tradition: rollercoaster, big breakfast, wrestle with the boss…"

I straightened up and stuffed my hands in my pockets and tried to look exasperated but I can only wonder how it actually came off.

He smiled broadly and shook me again before he let me go and then said, "Well, I have some traditions of my own. Not quite as exciting or as unusual and a hell of lot more often than once every ten years. Say, on a day off? A game? Maybe go fishing?"

There was a lump in my throat that I had to swallow before I could speak. "Sounds good, Nick. Count me in."

He clapped me on the shoulder with one hand and held out his other to seal the deal. With a more mundane handshake between us he said, "All right" and then stepped around me to unlock his car door with his remote. The small noise it made set me in motion over to my own car next to his. Before he closed his door he called out, "See you tonight." I raised my hand by way of goodbye and then climbed into my truck as he pulled out and drove away. I sat there and let the adrenaline flood my bloodstream and for an odd moment enjoyed being shaken apart.

I don't know if any single act would have made a difference. What would have happened if I had told Nick about the second voice on the tape? What would I have done if Nick had told me about Kelly Gordon showing up at crime scenes and even the lab? Would the voice of Walter Gordon's accountant have sent him in a tailspin after so stoically returning to work? Would I have put him in protective custody – my own custody – if I had known more than I did? What exactly were we sparing each other?

He sat across from me, my desk acting as some neutral third party, and told me in clipped tones that he knew about the voice on the tape and it was all right, nothing he was going to get upset about. The one event in his life that treated him as nothing more than a pawn was no longer a working entity in his life. There was a moment, just one, where he looked off into some middle distance past his knee when I thought he was about to contradict his own statement. I didn't give him a chance. I asked him, "So it's over?" which really wasn't a question at all. He looked up at me and without missing a beat took my prompt, gave me a blank smile and said, "Yeah, it's over."

Hindsight. I've never cared for it. The end result is all that matters and the end result was that all the ground we had covered over the years - and especially over that obscene grave – was put between again as if no progress had ever been made.

He slapped his thighs, stood up and walked out of my office. Case closed.

We were on a high profile case which meant that we were being rushed to find irrefutable evidence in the drowning death of Pauline Richards, wife of real estate mogul Jason Richards.

Even with Greg still several cases away from closing his one hundredth I didn't feel the need to delegate any duties since I was confident that everyone knew what they should be doing. Photograph, collect and print while Brass initiated interviews with Mr. Richards and the large staff that ran his house. I stepped into a kitchen big enough to skate in and saw Nick in the laundry room helping a maid fold high thread count sheets. He was interviewing her using his blunt staccato Spanish but despite his lack of fluency their conversation had the air of neighbors gossiping about another neighbor. He tucked a sheet under his chin and gathered the ends while agreeing, "Si, si" and continued to fold.

I caught myself ready to roll my eyes, ready to assume the posture of someone whose indulgence has been taxed, ready to use my authority to send him on another task. Instead, all my usual responses skidded to a stop. Something in the center of my chest tipped over and scalded my nerves. The glow stick image of Nick silently saying goodbye to his mother and father, to all of his loved ones, came to mind and with it the accompanying shame of having left him to worry that he had somehow disappointed me. As close to death as he had been he was worried about my opinion. Who had taught him to do that other than me? How many times had I watched him - and been charmed of all things - and then immediately counteracted it by putting him in his place?

Brass's voice startled me. "You got something here?"

"Maybe. Nick's interviewing a maid."

Brass took in Nick folding sheets as if he were folding a flag over a fallen comrade and gave me his own indulgent smile. "All right, well then we're probably not needed here, huh?"

I finally did roll my eyes but fell into step beside him as we continued our investigation.

Sara and Greg had already loaded their SUV's with carefully collected bags of evidence that would detail the last day of Pauline Richards when Nick came out into the living room with his arm around the maid he had helped with the laundry. She was visibly upset and held out a letter to me after Nick spoke quietly in her ear. I took it with my gloved hand and read an apology, a pained explanation why she couldn't go on and a declaration of love for those she left behind. A suicide note in Pauline Richards round penmanship.

Still holding onto the maid Nick looked over my shoulder at Mr. Richards. "I'm sorry, sir. Marta found the note but didn't want anyone to speak ill of your wife. She told me Pauline was always kind to her."

Marta loosened herself from Nick's hold and went to sit by Mr. Richards painting an incongruous picture of humbled power and working class grace.

I looked at Nick who gave me a quick nod and then brushed past me. Anything else I needed to know would be in his report.

I was trying to concentrate on work near the end of a shift, manhandling some forms in triplicate, when Warrick knocked and then leaned in through my office doorway. All he said was, "I'm taking Nick home" as if he knew I would understand and not question why. I stood up and then couldn't move until Warrick stepped away. I followed him to the media lab where if I didn't know better it looked like Nick was waiting for Archie to queue a 911 call. Archie gave me a quick glance and then seemed unable to meet my eye again. Warrick put his hand on Nick's shoulder and asked him quietly, "You ready to go?" Nick looked up as if he had just noticed Warrick was there and then nodded and stood. He had the exhausted air of a toy soldier that had been keyed tightly and then left to wind down in a corner. Warrick dropped his arm around Nick's shoulders, letting his wrist hang casually and then led them out into the hallway.

It seems selfish now but I felt desperate not to be left out and so I called after them, "I'll see you in a couple hours." Nick turned and fixed the same distracted look that he gave Warrick on me. I nodded to back up my words and then watched them as they left the lab. Archie turned back to his screen, headphones on, seemingly unaware that I was still there.

A leave of absence is not uncommon in our field of work but it still took me over an hour to process all of the paperwork. When I put it on Ecklie's desk he looked at it and then me and then signed it without a word.

I don't remember making a decision about it one way or the other. At the time it just seemed like one more thing to do. I went home and packed a large duffle bag with enough clothes for a week and then headed over to Nick's, uninvited and with Warrick there, I suppose, unneeded but also unable to steer myself anywhere else.

When I arrived Warrick answered the door, silent and harried. Nick was in the small living room of his townhouse no longer passive but pacing back and forth. When he saw me he froze and asked, "Am I fired?" I couldn't answer right away because the thought of work was so far from my mind that I had to reorient myself - north, south, east, west, center - to find the answer. At first all I could say was, "No, Nick" with none of the reassuring details.

He ducked his head and nodded and tried to swallow something heavy and then brought the heels of hands up to his eyes. It was one of those futile gestures meant to hold back something that clearly outweighed him. His words were broken as he sobbed over them leaving Warrick trying to hold him and then settling for an arm around his shoulders. I stepped up to him, both self-conscience and determined, and reached past his elbows and pulled his hands away from his face. They balled into fists making his arms cord with muscle but when I pulled him towards me it took no effort at all. The back of his neck was fever hot and tacky with sweat. He made an inarticulate, exhausted sound against my shoulder as if something had been hurting him for a long time and then suddenly stopped.

Warrick stood away from us but kept his hand on Nick's shoulder. I suspect he thought he had seen everything until he watched me press a kiss against Nick's temple. If it fazed him he did not show it. He rubbed his hand over the crown of Nick's head and then stepped into the kitchen.

Nick grew quieter, a current of emotion ran across his back and then shuddered still. He began to extricate himself from me piecemeal, first his chin, leaving my neck shivering where his humid breath had been and then his hands slowly let go of my jacket, his fingers seeming to creak like old rope as he straightened them out. He stood up to his full height but wouldn't look me in the eye until I took his face in my hands and held him as carefully as I could. Even then his eyes only darted over me, at once confirming something and then disbelieving it.

I let my hands fall away as Warrick came back into the living room holding a glass of iced tea out for Nick. The ridiculously cheery sound of ice against glass threw me but proved a brilliant counterpoint to Warrick's statement. "You're out of beer, man." Nick was swiping furiously at his tear-stained face and then started to laugh, just as he had at Catherine's months before. Warrick set the glass down soundly and then used his size and affection to navigate past Nick's hands and elbows and folded him into his own arms. It was a different kind of hug in both execution and temperament from their more public displays. There was no posturing only an ease and warmth I was once again left to admire. Nick whispered, "I'm sorry" which only caused Warrick to sigh and tell him, "Shut up with that" just as quietly.

It was a long morning. Nick shuffled into the bathroom for a shower while Warrick and I put our manners aside and found where Nick kept extra bedding for the guest room. I tossed my duffle bag by a small dresser, ordered groceries over the internet to be delivered and settled in like a tick. Nick came out of the bathroom dressed only in grey sweatpants and a white tee-shirt, trying to blink back the exhaustion that marred his eyes.

Warrick scratched the back of Nick's damp head and said, "I'll see you later." He looked at me and seemed to consider something and then reached out and took my hand, pulling me against his chest and giving my shoulder a good rap with his fist. He stepped back but still held on to my hand and asked, "Anything I can do for you?"

I told him, "I won't be in tonight. Catherine's in charge. Call me if you need me."

He shook my hand and then let go. "Will do." He nodded at Nick behind my shoulder and then was out the door.

When I turned around Nick looked ready to apologize or argue. He got as far saying my name, "Griss" before I cut him off. "I'm staying," I told him. "I'm staying because you need me and because I need to be here." He looked stunned and then finally said, "OK."

I walked him back to his room and closed the heavy curtains that make it possible to sleep during the day. He climbed into bed and rolled onto his side and watched me as I sat down on the edge of his bed. He looked up at me and then away and said, "I don't why I'm so tired." I tried to recreate Warrick's gesture and put my hand in his recently shorn hair. He blinked at me and then finally closed his eyes. I told him, "Then rest, Nicky. Just rest." He sighed and then went sleep under my hand.

I did little more than stand guard those first few days.

Nick was clearly pained to be in a position where he knew his behavior was worrisome but was unable to fight the fatigue that kept him from doing anything about it. It was a self feeding predicament that left me feeling useless beyond restocking his refrigerator.

As a scientist I knew that the human body - all on it's own - and sometimes despite what we do - is designed to seek out balance. Every symptom is a sign of something out of balance that the body is trying to restore. With that in mind I let Nick sleep, disturbing him only when had a visitor, with Warrick and Greg clocking the most hours. I let him sleep and waited and hoped that by not trying to harness him into one action or another he would find his way out of the grave that in many ways he never escaped.

I came home late one morning or more precisely, I let myself into Nick's home, having appropriated a key several weeks earlier. The living room was dark which could have meant that Nick went back to sleep or more likely, had yet to get up. I opened the blinds and saw the room around me change before my eyes, somehow becoming more expansive the more light I let in.

I turned around and looked at Nick's door down the short hallway and thought about pulling the same illusion in there. Instead, I walked quietly to his door and knocked softly before I opened it. His room was even darker than the living room had been leaving him sleeping on his side facing the door. Without thinking about it I stepped in, leaving the door ajar and letting some of the light from the living room follow me in. I watched Nick sleep as I toed off my shoes and crawled on to the bed, carefully spooning myself behind him. I was touching him from head to toe and yet I had no idea where to rest my hand. There was a part of me that was blunt enough to state the obvious: I was too old to be pulling this kind of shit. And yet from experience I knew that pulling away from him would only do more damage.

As if to save me from myself Nick reached back, took my hand, pulled my arm across his chest and threaded his fingers with mine. After performing such a gracious gesture his apology stunned me. "I'm sorry, Griss."

I started to say that I had no idea what he was sorry for but of course, I did. "Nick, I don't want you to ever think that you disappointed me." He snorted which was not at all what I expected although I should have. Revisionist history is an American pastime and I was no less immune to it than anyone else. "Nick, do you hear me?" I asked, just to make sure he was really listening. He nodded. "I'm sorry, Nick, for my caution and my fear and for letting you think that you might have disappointed me. It was never anything I meant to do and it's the last thing I want you to worry about now." I squeezed him. "You hear me, Nick?" His voice was choked but he managed to say, "Yeah."

I slipped my other arm under him and held him maybe tighter than I should have. After a while he squirmed and turned to face me but I didn't care for it what with our elbows and knees opposing each other. I pulled his leg over mine and let him take his time settling against me. His forehead was pressed against my cheek so I only had to turn my head a little to kiss it and then move a little more to kiss his mouth. He met me with an urgency that matched my own and for a long while the only sound in that dark room - that dark room with a ray of light peeking through the doorway - was our breath.

Those are all of the details I can spare. The rest are mine.

It was early Summer which meant that it was only in the low 90's at 8:30 in the morning. We were heading out to Lake Mead after Nick's first week back at work. He had used only three of the six months leave of absence and by all accounts had found his footing again. He was still prone to silent moods that were edged in something bleak but then that could be said about nearly everyone in the lab. The fact remained that he had somehow retained not only his resiliency but also his buoyant spirit leaving me to stand back in awed affection.

Our plans were simple. We would rent a boat for the day, find an island and map it out. Nick brought along some binoculars for bird watching while I brought a magnifying glass for bugs. Between us, both far and near would be covered.

He rested his hand on my shoulder and smoothed his thumb along my beard. In all seriousness he said, "Maybe I'll grow a mustache." I pretended to swerve our car inside our lane but it was enough to jostle him. He laughed. "All right, all right I'll leave the facial hair to you." His hand, which had grabbed my shoulder, slid down my arm to squeeze my bicep and then my forearm before he returned it to his own lap. I reached over and took his hand and kissed his knuckles. He took it as another opportunity to brush the back of his fingers against my cheek. I took a moment to look over at him earning a honk from a car I got too close to. He laughed again and told me to keep my eyes on the road and then pulled my hand onto his knee and held it there with his own.

Feeling properly anchored I turned my attention back to the road. The desert sky was a deep-water blue and inviting. The highway rolled easily along. In the rearview mirror a sign read: Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas!

**End of The Scientist**

**Your thoughts are welcomed at: **trueenough at gmail dot com**  
**

**Notes:** The title is taken from the Coldplay song which always reminds me of Grissom.

**May 18, 2006**


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